


Energy

by bellinibeignet



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe, The Avengers (2012), The Avengers - All Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-30
Updated: 2012-04-30
Packaged: 2017-11-04 13:38:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/394486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellinibeignet/pseuds/bellinibeignet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unlikely love story with inspiration from the lives of Bonnie & Clyde, Energy unfolds a tragic destiny for the man avenging his daughter's death, and a young student who is looking for meaning after losing everything that matters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Energy

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Steve and Tony as Bonnie and Clyde](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/8224) by gassyfassy. 



> Be forewarned, this does not end happily.
> 
> Some might say that they are slightly out of character, but it depends on how you view TonySteve. And pushing them into the roles of Bonnie and Clyde while obviously make them a bit OOC.
> 
> Also, anyone who would like to do artwork, I'd love that! Haha.

Energy

 

Steve’s eyes darted between the road and the rear view mirror. Tony had finally stopped grunting in pain and laid down, but that didn’t calm Steve’s nerves. All he could see was the clerk at the gas station pulling out a gun and pointing it at Tony. All he could remember was feeling helpless as he watched him fall to the ground, then a rush of anxiety as Tony suddenly sat up, pulling his own gun out and shooting the man in the head.

 

When Steve ran inside, Tony was still on the floor, grasping at his bleeding shoulder, mumbling to himself about how “that motherfucker had a terrible shot.”

 

Steve piled him in the backseat of their most recently stolen vehicle: an Oldsmobile, ’88 Delta, black, with broken locks on the backdoors. He jumped in the driver’s seat and drove off, yelling at Tony to keep pressure his shoulder with whatever he could find. They rode for almost an hour before pulling onto a dirt county road, maybe the one good thing about driving in rural Mississippi.

 

“Why’d you stop?” Tony grunted.

 

“Shut up,” Steve said, climbing into the back seat with him. In his hand was a small tattered backpack -- his first aid supplies.

 

“Christ, Stevie, I’m fine,” Tony bitched, pushing him away with his strong arm. “Just drive.”

 

“Shut the fuck up and let me patch you up,” Steve said adamantly, pulling him to sit up. “Let me take your shirt off.”

 

Tony huffed, but obliged, wincing as the shirt was pulled over his wound. He watched as Steve’s eyes glazed over him languidly. Then, just as quickly, his jaw tightened in professionalism, and he dug into the bag, pulling out antiseptic and stitching material.

 

Tony smiled to himself, despite the pain in his arm. Steve’s hands were shaking, which was unusual; he always had calm and steady hands. Tony took his wrist, stopping him from his search through the first aid kit.

 

“Goddammit, Tony, stop. I need to-“

 

“Baby.”

 

Steve instantly went still, and Tony placed a hand on his cheek. Steve melted into it, his eyes shutting.

 

“Are you okay?” Tony whispered.

 

Steve moved closer to him. “I thought… I thought you were gone- you. You can’t imagine how I felt watching you fall to the ground like that. I-“

 

“Stop, stop. I’m fine.” He pulled Steve’s head toward him and kissed him gently on the lips. “Don’t worry that pretty face of yours.”

 

Steve managed to smile. “Just… don’t get shot again.”

 

“Clean me up.”

 

Tony watched as Steve (now with calm hands) cleaned away at the wound. He had a small flashlight between his lips so that he could see in the dark, and his brows were furrowed in determination as he assessed whether he should pull the bullet out himself, or if they should risk checking into a hospital with aliases.

 

“I’m lucky I found you,” Tony chuckled to himself.

 

Now that Steve was working, he was annoyed to be distracted, Tony could tell. But that didn’t stop him from glancing up at Tony with a blush in his cheeks.

 

He went back to the wound. “Why do you say that?” he mumbled.

 

“I have my own personal nurse.” Tony laughed through the pain of more alcohol being poured on his shoulder.

 

Steve shook his head, trying his best not to laugh, too.

 

But, it wasn’t a joke. Tony had gotten extremely lucky when he came across Steve. He remembered entering the bar as coyly as he could, sitting in a corner and ordering the plainest thing he could think of.

 

“A beer. And just keep ‘em coming.”

 

And as he drank, he noticed a tall muscular blond, probably a student, smiling and laughing with a woman who was equally as blonde, and probably twice the boy’s age, confident as ever to stretch her legs as a cougar.

 

Tony watched, thoroughly entertained as the guy leaned into the woman’s neck to whisper something, all the while reaching into her purse and expertly slipping her small wallet into his pocket.

 

Tony nodded to himself in approval.

 

It wasn’t long before the woman gave her number and said something about getting home to her kids (and probably her husband).

 

Then, much to Tony’s surprise, the handsome snake came to sit next to him.

 

“You should probably get out of here soon,” the younger man greeted.

 

“Why is that?” Tony chuckled, confused.

 

“Ten o’ clock news comes on soon,” he said lowly, his long eyelashes a distraction. “And while the baseball cap and sweatshirt are a _great_ disguise, someone in here besides me is going to recognize you.”

 

Tony looked at the clock. Five minutes until the news started, and the boy was right, his face would probably be on it at the top of the hour.

 

Tony Stark, the ex-billionaire who’s business partner pulled the rug from under him. The man whose only child had been kidnapped and murdered for a ransom he could no longer pay, a setup masterminded by said partner. The man who’d taken justice into his own hands and slit the throats of the four people who were responsible for stealing his fortune and killing the only person who mattered to him.

 

He’d recently been donned a nick name: Iron Man, for his skill with metal weapons, especially the handgun that was tucked at the small of his back. He thought it was a silly nickname.

 

“And you’re not gonna turn me in, no?” Tony asked, intrigued.

 

“Nah, not at all,” he smiled in return. “In fact, I’m going to buy your drinks.” He laid a twenty (from the woman’s wallet) on top of the bar. “And I’m going to walk you to your car.”

 

Tony couldn’t help but allow it.

 

“What’s your name?” Tony asked as they walked the two blocks to where he’d parked his car, just to be on the safe side.

 

“Steve. Steve Rogers. I’m a medical student.”

 

“What city am I in again?” Tony laughed.

 

“Baltimore.”

 

Tony’s brows raised. “So you go to Johns Hopkins?”

 

Steve nodded. “Not for long though. My mom had cancer and we’d used every dollar and cent we had to pay for her treatments. They aren’t going to help me out any, so I’m basically shit out of luck now.”

 

“You can’t take out a loan?”

 

Steve chuckled. “Let’s just say that the banks didn’t like my father very much, so they aren’t very keen on lending me a dime, let alone a hundred thousand dollars.”

 

When they got to the car, Steve leaned against it. “I thought the news said you were driving some slick ass Impala.”

 

Tony nodded. “I was. Gotta switch it up every once in a while to keep them guessing.”

 

“I’d say a station wagon will do that,” Steve smiled.

 

How Tony had been convinced to let him tag along, he was still unsure. If he had a choice, he’d go back to that day six months ago and tell him to go home and forget that they’d ever met. Tell him that he’d find a way to fix his life, and that being Tony Stark’s partner in crime wasn’t exactly as romantic as it may sound. Sleeping in motels, sometimes the backseat. Eating fast food. Having to leave a place at the drop of a dime because someone recognizes you.

 

But Steve was… convincing. Charming with a bright white smile and quick with his words. Somehow he’d wormed his way into Tony’s mind, convincing him that he’d be a great asset. That he could get rid of him if he ever caused a problem. That he had skills worth having in a tight spot.

 

“My mom is dead, my dad is in jail, and I don’t have school to look forward to,” he’d said, his blue eyes never looking from Tony’s. “I’m quick, I’m good behind the wheel. Plus, the road has to get lonely, ya know? I could… be good company.”

 

And then Tony was parked outside of Steve’s apartment, ducked low in the seat, watching through the windows to see Steve moving quickly around his place, grabbing everything he might find useful, and shoving it into a bag.

 

As promised, he was quick, coming downstairs in five minutes and throwing his stuff into the back seat.

 

Not once had a he mentioned missing home or wanting to stop. Not once had he said anything about leaving Tony’s side. And goddammit Tony wished that he would, so he could take him back home and get him out of this mess. Of course, now the national news knew Steve’s name as well, so, realistically, Steve could never go back. The national news had even started posting the photograph from his Johns Hopkins ID. Right next to Tony’s only mugshot, taken just two months after Steve joined him.

 

Yes, he’d been arrested once in their time together. Up until watching him get shot, Steve thought that he’d never feel anything worse than seeing Tony be arrested, to find that the jig was up and that there was no more running.

 

But, leave it to Tony to always be one step ahead. During their first ride together, he’d relayed his own personal list of rules if Steve wanted to be his partner.

 

“Don’t think of yourself as a criminal. You’ll start to walk like one. Be conscious of who you are, but don’t let it be obvious. Can you use a gun?”

 

Steve sputtered. Tony  had been talking so fast that he hadn’t expected the question. “I haven’t before, but I’m sure I can.”

 

“I’ll teach you,” he said easily. “As tempting as it is, don’t fuck anyone who throws themself at you. They’ll be dying to tell anyone who calls that they fucked America’s Most Wanted. And if we’re ever separated, or if I get arrested, just go to the third hotel or motel listed in the phonebook of whatever city we are in. And wait for three days. That’s it. Then fucking go.”

 

“And what if _I’m_ the one that gets arrested?” Steve laughed uneasily.

 

“Well, I’ll just have to be a hero and shoot a few people. Don’t put me in that situation though.”

 

As Tony thought, his luck ran out in their second month together. He’d gone into a store in Annapolis, and come out in cuffs. Steve had almost had a heart attack, laying back in his seat and thanking God that Tony had switched cars that morning. He would’ve been spotted easily and they’d both be stuck behind bars.

 

Tony caught his eye before he was put into the police car. His eyes said everything –   _Don’t be a hero. Do as I told you. I’ll see you soon._

 

But it wasn’t so simple. That morning had been perfect. Steve had woken up and realized how fucking happy he was being near Tony. Being taught to use a gun. Being valued. Having someone constantly looking after him, and someone to look after in return. Never feeling alone. And he told him that. He told Tony “I think you’re getting to me”. And Tony just smiled, continuing to iron the shirt he wanted to wear.

 

“You’re not going to say anything?” Steve asked quietly.

 

Tony shook his head. “Do I need to, or do you just want me to?”

 

So the look meant everything. It was the answer that Steve wanted rather desperately. _Don’t be a hero, Steve. Please. I won’t have you risking your life for me. I care about you so much. Do as I told you. I promise I’m coming back to you. But, if not, leave and don’t look back. Now drive away._

 

With Tony’s voice in his head, he got to a telephone book, found the third motel listed (He thanked God it was a motel. Hotels were harder to hide at.) and went straight there and didn’t leave for anything, not even food.

 

He distracted himself with television, watching the news every chance he got until the story of Tony Stark’s arrest hit the airwaves, and the president relaying a bullshit message about how much relief the nation could finally feel now that the crazed murderer was in the capable hands of police.

 

Steve turned the television off and, having a strong stomach, dry heaved into the toilet, then crawled into the single queen sized bed to try to sleep.

 

This was the first time he’d slept alone since meeting Tony. Granted, they’d never shared a bed, but Tony was always a foot away, always in the bed next to him, or on the floor in a blanket, or in the front seat of the car if they were too broke for a place to stay. It was rare occasion that Steve woke up and Tony wasn’t there. In fact, Tony went out of his way to make sure that he dumped the car, grabbed breakfast, and did whatever else he needed to take care of, and made it back before Steve woke up, just as a courtesy.

 

Now Steve appreciated it more than ever. Because every morning that he woke up without him, he nearly had a panic attack before he realized that Tony was in jail. That Tony’d been caught. That Tony hadn’t found his way back.

 

It was finally the third night, an incredibly rainy one, and Steve just couldn’t sleep. He was waiting. Tony told him to leave after three days and not to look back. But Steve had already made the decision. He’d stay one more night if he had to. And if Tony didn’t show up after that, maybe one more, just in case.

 

God damn Tony for being so confident and getting Steve’s hopes up. In Steve’s eyes, Tony did no wrong, could bust himself out of any situation, was too smart to be caught. Now he was alone and Tony was-

 

There was a rapid knock on the door and Steve nearly fell off of the bed. Even without Tony  there, and even with the possibility of it being Tony on the other side of that door, he didn’t forget his training. He grabbed the crème and silver plated gun from the nightstand and approached the door carefully, then looked through the peephole.

 

It was Tony.

 

He opened the door, letting his hand with the gun drop lazily to his side, overcome with relief. His chest wanted to explode, his eyes wanted to shed tears, his voicebox wanted to let out a scream. But instead, he just stared.

 

“Miss me?” Tony asked, that coy smirk slipping into the corner of his lips.

 

The calmness from that night had reappeared again as Steve tended to his wound in the backseat.

 

Steve just didn’t know how the man did it. While Steve was quick and could keep his head on straight, Tony was his kryptonite, and he turned to mush whenever he was hurt. But Tony didn’t seem to have the same regard for his own safety, which was one of his many irritating characteristics that Steve had gotten used to.

 

He’d removed the bullet and stitched him the best that he could in the darkness. Without having numbed the wound, Tony bit through the pain rather effortlessly, watching Steve’s every move. It calmed him.

 

“You’re all good,” Steve whispered, rolling down the window so he could rinse his hands of Tony’s blood with a bottle of water.

 

“Stevie.”

 

“I don’t want to talk about it, Tony,” Steve bit quickly. “We should get going.”

 

Tony sat up and put a hand on Steve’s knee. “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. You cleaned me up, we can move on, and act like this never happened.”

 

“Stop talking about it like it’s so _goddamn_ simple,” Steve spat, zipping up his bag and tossing it angrily into the front seat.

 

“But it _is_ that simple, baby. Stop. Listen to me.” He grabbed Steve with the best of his ability, ignoring the flash of pain in his shoulder. “I’ve never given you any reason to believe that I wasn’t coming back to you, have I? Have I?”

 

Steve shook his head. “But-“

 

“Just stop it, Steve, damn.” He kissed him on his chin. “Now… do you want to sleep here or drive?”

 

Steve knew what the question actually was, and he nuzzled his face into Tony’s neck. “Let’s stay here for a while,” he whispered, already kissing and suckling at Tony’s skin.

 

They always found time to make love, whether it was a long delicate night in a hotel, or for quick stress relief in the backseat after a long few days on the road. This was neither of those things. Steve needed to be comforted, needed to know that Tony wasn’t going anywhere, needed to forget the image of Tony being shot and falling to the ground. Tony needed to reassure him, needed to comfort him and take care of him the best way he knew how.

 

+++

 

 

Tony was stretched thin, laying lazily as he watched Steve pull his clothes back on, noticeably more relaxed. He reached out and touched his arm. “I like it when you blush for, like, an hour after we fuck.”

 

Steve couldn’t help but chuckle. “Shut up.”

 

“I wonder what the news would think about Captain America blushing.”

 

Steve rolled his eyes. The media really was shit at coming up with names. Couldn’t they have come up with something as cool as Pretty Boy Floyd or Baby Face Nelson? No. Captain America, the criminal who just so happened to pull a kid out of traffic in the midst of a getaway, and Iron Man, who was good with guns and breaking out of jail cells. It was stupid. Absolutely stupid.

 

“We should get going,” Steve sighed. “Put your clothes on and get some rest.” He kissed him before climbing into the front seat.

 

When he turned the car over, the radio was already relaying the news of Tony’s incident at the gas station.

 

_Tony ‘Iron Man’ Stark and his partner Steve ‘Captain’ Rogers have committed another murder tonight in Canton, Mississippi. The man, Timothy Creighton, aged 48, was found dead only a half hour ago with a gunshot wound to the forehead. Surveillance shows that Creighton shot Stark first, and Stark managed to shoot back. Rogers entered and pulled Stark out of the station. Police had assumed that they are heading out of Mississippi. If you have any information, please call the national hotline at 1-800-_

Steve turned the radio down and turned in his seat. Tony was pulling his jeans on still, eyes watching Steve carefully.

 

“What are we going to do?” Steve asked.

 

“Getting out of Mississippi sounds absolutely fantastic,” Tony muttered.

 

“They are probably blockading the borders are we speak, Tony,” Steve said quietly. “Goddammit, I should’ve listened to you. I should’ve kept driving.”

 

“Oh stop. I would’ve bled out and gotten an infection or something if you hadn’t pulled over. Just… drive. I’m sure we’ll get to the border before they do.”

 

Steve did as he was told, peeling carefully off of the sideroad and onto the interstate. Tony was probably right. In the couple of hours that they were pulled over, they hadn’t seen or heard any police officers drive by. It was possible that they were still a good hour behind them.

 

Still, Steve looked into the rearview after a few minutes just to catch a glimpse of Tony, who, instead of sleeping, was cleaning his gun, something he did when he needed to think.

 

“Do you remember the first time?” Steve asked, and Tony knew what he meant.

 

“Steve. Don’t.”

 

He bit down on the inside of his jaw, in no mood to fight or chastise Tony for putting on a front. Of course Tony remembered, and now he was undoubtedly thinking about it (if he hadn’t been thinking about it already). Everything was far too reminiscent: Tony being in trouble and Steve nearly having a nervous breakdown.

 

Learning that Tony had only been shot in his shoulder gave Steve just as intense of a feeling as when he opened that motel room door to see Tony standing there, free from jail, soaking wet from the storm he’d probably run through.

 

Steve remembered trying to say his name but the words didn’t come out. Tony let himself in the room and shut the door behind him, and Steve just…stood until he found the words.

 

“H-how did you-“

 

“I said I was going to come back to you,” Tony said nonchalantly, looking around the room. “For someone who was supposed to be leaving in a few hours, you sure haven’t packed anything up.”

 

It was true. His own clothes were out, and Tony’s bag was also a bit of a mess. He’d searched through it for something, anything that would tell him that Tony had a plan, but settled on one of Tony’s hoodies, which he was wearing over his bare upperbody. For comfort. For the smell.

 

“I… I wasn’t going to leave.”

 

“Don’t be stupid, Steve. I told you-“

 

“No, Tony. I wasn’t leaving. If you didn’t come to me, I was going to come to you. I would’ve shot up the place if I had to.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“No, _you_ stop trying to baby me, Tony,” Steve spat, suddenly angry. “Do you know how it felt to watch you dragged out of that store and having to just drive away like I didn’t see anything? Like I hadn’t just lost…”

 

Tony looked away from Steve’s eyes and down into his hand. He was holding Tony’s gun instead of his own. Stepping forward, he took it from him and Steve seemed to wince as their hands brushed.

 

Tony put the gun on top of the television. “Stevie…”

 

“Tony, I was this close to going into that police station and fucking up everyone I could get my hands on, I promise. I-“

 

“Shhh, Steve,” Tony whispered, closing the space between them. “I’m here now. I’m back. Just…”

 

Steve gently said Tony’s name, almost begging, and Tony obliged by pressing his lips into Steve’s jaw, relaxing him instantly. “Just… breathe. I’m right here, baby.”

 

“Mhmm,” Steve whimpered before sinking his lips into Tony’s without warning. And he was surprised that Tony accepted the kiss rather feverishly, already unzipping Steve’s jacket and maneuvering him over to the bed.

 

And all Steve could think at the time was that, if he ever lost Tony, at least he had this. The sound of Tony hushing him, the feeling of his fingers tracing and filling him, the taste of his wet mouth biting and licking at every inch he could reach. Nothing had compared to that night until now. Nothing felt better than the control and gentleness that Tony had, despite his usual uncaring and rigid demeanor. To have the damaged man hovered over him, moaning, kissing him, saying his name, asking him if he was okay, it was all enough to put Steve at ease with the situation he’d gotten himself into.

 

And so he held onto Tony as tightly as he could, eyes clamped shut as their bodies adjusted and slid around one another, making love until the edge of morning reared its head.

 

Steve remembered how embarrassed he felt when Tony pulled away from him and sat up on the side of the bed, stretching with a loud yawn. Of course he had nothing to worry about, but still, insecurity set in.

 

“I’m sure that the cops will be raiding this city in just a little while,” Tony whispered tiredly. “We should get out of here before the sun comes up.”

 

Steve nodded. “I’d love to just… stay in bed with you for a little while, though.”

 

Tony turned and gave a weak smile. “It’s a hard knock life. Little time for romance.”

 

Steve must have looked disappointed, because Tony laid back down, laying an arm across the small of Steve’s back and resting his chin on his shoulder with a small kiss. “Believe me, honey,” he whispered. “All I can think about is getting to the next city so I can do this all over again.”

 

Steve blushed, burying his face into the pillow.

 

“Look at me.”

 

Steve turned awkwardly so that he could look over his shoulder and meet Tony’s eyes. They shared a kiss before Tony gently told him that he loved him and that he was glad that Steve would’ve come to save him. He was just glad that it wasn’t necessary.

 

“We should get off the interstate as soon as possible,” Tony announced, interrupting Steve’s thoughts.

 

He cleared his throat. “Look at the map. When’s the next exit?”

 

“Wait, turn the radio back up.”

 

They were making another news break. Louisiana police had secured the roads that crossed the border and were stopping everyone who passed through. The Mississippi State Police were heading that way.

 

“Which means-“ Steve’s breath caught. “So we can’t go forward and can’t go back? Right?”

 

“Fuck.” Tony locked the chamber of his gun.

 

“Did you find a road on the map?”

 

“No,” Tony groaned, taking his sawed-off from under his seat and starting to load it. “It wouldn’t help anyway, it’d just take us to some redneck’s-

 

“Tony.”

 

“-place in the middle of the woods who probably can’t wait-

 

“Tony.”

 

“-to be some upstanding citizen and shoot us both.”

 

Steve drove thoughtfully, unsure of whether to slow down or speed up. If they were essentially surrounded, it really didn’t matter.

 

“Should we abandon the car? Go by foot? It’s pretty woodsy in this area. We could hide out.”

 

“Stevie.”

 

He drove in silence as Tony prepared every gun that they had, mind rushing, until suddenly, the world went upside down. There was a loud piercing sound, then Tony screaming, which made Steve screech the car to a halt, almost sending them into a ditch onto the side of the road.

 

Steve turned around in his seat, and saw Tony clutching at his stomach, which was bleeding profusely. In the roof of the car was a bullethole, and the car was drenched in light. A helicopter.

 

“FUCK! Will people stop shooting me?” Tony screamed.

 

“Baby, stop yelling,” Steve said, turning the car off and climbing into the backseat again. Still, Tony groaned out in pain, doing his best to look outside of the window. Steve assessed him quickly. Even though his vital organs hadn’t been hit, he was losing more blood than Steve could imagine fixing now, not when he had to get them out of there.

 

Tony could barely manage breathing, let alone speaking. He stumbled over his thoughts. “Just drive. If you get to a sideroad, take it. Just… fucking go, Stevie.”

 

Steve jumped back in the front seat. With a snap judgement, he drove through the median, apologizing as Tony was bounced around in the backseat.

 

“Where are we going?” Tony yelled.

 

“There was on old bridge we passed a few miles back. I know you’re hurt, but you’re the best goddamn marksman on the fucking planet right now. Get that helicopter off of our asses until I can get us under cover.”

 

“Steve, there’s a fucking bullet in my stomach. How am I-“

 

“TONY! Stop bitching and just do it!”

 

Tony cursed and managed to grab his sniper rifle, one he’d designed himself before his company was ripped from his ass. He perched the rifle on its small stand as best as he could on a cushioned seat. “Just… keep a steady speed.” He rolled the window down just enough, then searched the sky for the helicopter, which had had to turn around when they switched directions. Steve was smart, buying them just a few minutes.

 

When the helicopter came back into sight, shining brightly their way, he did his best to focus on everything but the pain in his stomach. “Just keep it steady Steve!” he yelled out, eying the chopper.

 

“I got it, I got it!” Steve yelled. “Just take that fucker down.”

 

Despite the sudden sound of sirens, undoubtedly police, Tony found the gas chamber on the helicopter in less than twenty seconds. He quickly thanked God that he’d chosen engineering as a career and shooting as a hobby. Those interests were literally about to save him from death.

 

With two quick pulls of the trigger, the helicopter burst at the tailend, then started to spin away from them.

 

“Yes! Yes baby! Yes!” Steve was screaming.

 

“Fuck!” Tony groaned, knocking the rifle over so that he could lay down again. “Steve, you gotta-“

 

“I’m getting to the overpass now. Just hold on.”

 

Tony was starting to feel woozy, and thankfully the car halted to a stop. All he could see was the roof of the car and the flashes of blue and red through the windows, then Steve’s perfect face hovering over him.

 

“You can’t go to sleep,” he was saying. “Stay awake.” But Tony was so tempted to just shut his eyes and fall into his memories, his dreams. “Tony, I’m not kidding. Stay awake.”

 

“I should’ve never let you come with me,” Tony mustered through the taste of metal in his mouth. ‘Oh. Blood,’ he thought to himself, swallowing hard.

 

“Don’t you dare, Anthony Stark,” Steve said brutally. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

 

Tony laughed despite himself. “You would’ve been better off struggling to pay for college than watching me die-“

 

“Stop it.”

 

“-in the backseat of a stolen car.”

 

Before Steve could reply, the sound of a voice came over a loud speaker. “You’re not getting out of here, guys. So just come out with your hands up and we’ll do this thing like gentlemen.”

 

“Fuck,” Steve cursed, looking out of the back and front windows to see that there were cops standing in every direction, guns pointed calmly at them. He looked back down at Tony. “I don’t regret getting in that car with you that day. Not a single bit.” He could feel the tears streaming down his cheeks, but he ignored it, laughing. “The only thing I regret is coming to Mississippi. Why the fuck did we do that?”

 

Tony smiled. “One of the few states we haven’t touched,” he whispered.

 

“We’re gonna get out of this,” Steve said adamantly. “Do you trust me?”

 

“To get us out of here? No, baby. Not by a long shot.”

 

“Tony.”

 

“Just, kiss me. You heard the man. Let’s do this like gentlemen.”

 

With one long look, Steve sank down as carefully as he could against Tony and kissed his lips. They were cold and tasted like blood, but he kissed him anyway.

 

Tony pushed him away finally, staring up at the young and chiseled face of his partner. “You’re probably the best thing that could’ve ever happened to me when I walked into that bar that day,” he managed to say, swallowing back the blood in his throat. “I was ready to walk into crossfire. Didn’t really care about living.”

 

“Stop.”

 

“But having you around gave me just… a bit of sunshine.” Tony chuckled. “Does dying make people corny?”

 

“ _Please_ stop saying that,” Steve cried, gripping Tony’s shoulders and shaking him carefully. “I’m not letting you die. This isn’t it.”

 

Before Tony could say anything, Steve kissed him full on the mouth, and was suddenly climbing back into the front seat, tucking Tony’s gun under his shirt, and opening the door.

 

“Steve! Stop! What the fuck are you doing?” Tony yelled, grabbing the handle to his door. When it didn’t open, he punched it. “Piece of shit car – STEVE! What-“

 

Tony lifted himself from his seat, staring out of the window to see Steve walking towards the officers, hands at his side. The police were screaming at him, telling him to put his hands up in the air and get down on the ground. Tony was yelling at him, “Do what they tell you, Steve!”, and they kept yelling, “GET ON THE GROUND! PUT YOUR HANDS UP!” and Tony kept yelling, “GODDAMMIT, STEVE, DON’T BE A HERO! DO WHAT THEY-“

 

And then Steve was reaching for his waist, and before Tony could even allow his eyes to adjust, gunshots rang out from either direction and Steve fell to the ground.

 

Tony wasn’t sure what words he was yelling, or begging, but he was using every bit of energy he had to call out, all the while gripping his stomach and pushing himself into the front seat. He didn’t bother to grab a gun or a knife. He simply made his way out of the car, one hand in the air, one clutching at his stomach.

 

He nearly fell over at the sight of Steve laying there, covered in the slick redness of his blood, eyes still open, blinking rapidly.

 

“Don’t shoot!” Tony called out. “Don’t shoot!”

 

“HOLD YOUR FIRE!” a voice rang out adamantly.

 

Tony dropped to his knees and crawled the few feet to Steve, then carefully pulled his head into his lap. “Why the fuck did you do that, huh? Why in God’s name would you do something so stupid, Stevie? Goddammit!”

 

Tony watched as he tried to speak, but nothing came from his lips but spittle and more blood.

 

“We could’ve gotten out of this, Stevie,” Tony moaned. “Fuck, why did you have to be a hero, huh? Why? I could’ve gotten us out.”

 

“We’re gonna read you your rights, Mr. Stark,” the voice yelled out.

 

“Give me two fucking minutes!” Tony yelled back. “Goddamn you, TWO MINUTES!”

 

The Miranda Rights were read anyway.

 

“How can you leave me like this?” Tony whispered. “How can you possibly expect me to be okay with your blood on my hands?”

 

Steve’s face shouldn’t have been caked with dirt and blood. He was perfect, with bright blue eyes and a white smile, always smiling, always blushing when Tony held him like this otherwise. Always dreaming, talking about what they’d do when they figured out how to leave the country. He should be smiling, not gasping for air, not filled with bullets, not dying when he didn’t deserve it.

 

“I… you,” Steve whimpered.

 

“Stop it, Stevie. Stop.”

 

“I love you,” he said with as solid of a smile as he could muster, eyes shutting.

 

Tony sat in silence, staring at Steve in his arms, waiting for him to move. But he didn’t. He didn’t move. He didn’t try to open his eyes again. He didn’t try to say anything else.

 

“Steve… Steve, come on, baby. Stop this. Come back.” He shook him gently. “I love you, too. I love you, too, Rogers. Come on.”

 

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND YOUR RIGHTS AS WE HAVE READ THEM TO YOU, ANTHONY STARK?” the voice yelled out, as if for the dozenth time.

 

Tony bit down on the inside of his jaw, catching sight of his gun, lying next to Steve’s dead body, it’s silver plating shining in the headlights surrounding them.

 

He bent down to kiss Steve’s forehead, all the while carefully reaching for his gun. All he could hear in his mind was Steve yelling at him to shoot the chopper down, that he was the best marksman on the planet when he wanted to be, and suddenly, all he wanted was to avenge the deaths those he’d put in harm’s way, those who made his small life worth living for the short time that they were in it.

 

In one swift motion, he pushed himself away from Steve’s body, caught aim, and shot at the man holding the megaphone, before suddenly being overcome with piercing pain, and then as close to nothing as he could possibly feel.

 

His last thought was a memory. One he hadn’t thought of until he was laying in the dirt, staring across at Steve’s motionless body, his closed eyes.

 

“Do you believe in heaven?” Steve had asked, lying in bed, watching Tony clean his pistol. “Or an afterlife?”

 

Tony shrugged. “I’m not sure. Maybe.”

 

“I do,” Steve said, pulling a blanket tighter around him. “This can’t possibly be it, you know? You’re here and you fuck up and you love and then you just die? All of that energy wasted?”

 

“Energy?” Tony had laughed, looking over at Steve. He was always talking romantically and philosophically after they made love.

 

“Yeah. Of course, the energy from our bodies just goes into the dirt, but what about everything else? The love and compassion and sadness and hatred. Where does that transfer to?”

 

“I guess into those that you leave behind,” Tony said, brows furrowed, having never really thought about it.

 

“I can’t imagine carrying someone else’s energy around for the rest of my life,” Steve said quietly. “When my mom died, I couldn’t bear the pain in my heart. It was hard enough waking up in the morning before I met you.”

 

Tony couldn’t help but smile. “Well, if I die, promise you’ll wake up anyway.”

 

“I can’t promise that.”

 

And laying there, thinking about Steve’s face as he climbed out of that car, already planning to get himself killed, Tony knew why. And he couldn’t blame him. Because as he watched Steve fall into eternal sleep, he had no desire to go through the pain of losing someone again, to carry the burden of their energy on his shoulders and in his heart. Being arrested and pulled away from Steve’s body was a thought that made him sick. He couldn't imagine a life of being put on trial, of sitting in a jail cell to stare at the walls and constantly replay the image of his daughter's mangled body, or Steve falling to the ground, both dying because of him, trying to protect him, a man who didn’t even give a damn about protecting himself.

 

No. That was a worse end than death.

 

And, as he accepted it, he knew that, with whatever death entailed, at least he wouldn’t be alone.

 

THE END


End file.
